“To truly understand Ned Green, you had to witness him in his element. He had an overwhelming presence and vitality, which he brought to everything he endeavored to do. Ned was a member of the 2000 RMC senior crew. He died on February 18 from a fall while ice climbing in Damnation Gully, Huntington Ravine, White Mountains.

To give an example of the kind of character Ned was, picture this: You’re the RMC field supervisor hiking into the woods to visit the senior crew. You round the corner and are confronted with the sight of a figure, doubled-over, hulking, sweating and swearing, wrapped around a rock as tall as the pumps on Lowe’s. He’d pull himself up, wipe the top layer of mud and bugs off his hands and a sly grin would appear through the thickest beard you ever saw. You’d realize that the grimy brown t-shirt he was wearing said, ”Visualize Whirled Peas”. Ned would nod, his utter frustration with the rock would instantly change to satisfaction and he’d challenge you, “Think you could move this rock?”

The great thing about Ned is that he would laugh at that description. He could also laugh at himself and find humor in most things. Singing to the tune of the Adams Family he could write songs about himself, “He looks a little funny, his nose is always runny, he hasn’t any money, Nedly, Nedly Green. He once said, “There are two kinds of people, those who tell me I have food in my beard, and those that don’t.” Ned was a personality, a fixture of the White Mountains, and he poured himself into the seven seasons of work he did here.

I first met him in 1997 when he was a caretaker at Imp. Spring of 1998, he worked as a floater between Carter and Zealand huts, and that summer he was the West Rotator for the Shelters department of the AMC. He did a brief stint with the fall trail crew and the next summer, 1999, he went to Vermont and worked on the Long Trail with the GMC trail crew. He spent the winter at the Harvard Cabin as caretaker and joined the RMC as a member of the senior crew for the summer of 2000. He spent the fall with the GMC trail crew and served again as the Harvard Cabin caretaker this winter, 2000-01.

He loved and was dedicated to life in the woods as a back-country caretaker and trail worker. He loved to work hard and to challenge himself with adventures like “The Shelter Traverse” or hiking the Long Trail in nineteen days. As I wrote in my summer-end report, Ned set the standard of work for the RMC crew this past summer and inspired the crew to accomplish some of the most awesome rockwork I’ve ever seen. Take a hike up Lowe’s Path or the Brookside [47 stone staircase] and you will be surrounded by Ned’s impressive efforts that will outlast any of us.

I have met few people as spirited, energetic, powerful and full of life as Ned was. He made the world a bigger place and had a strong affect on those he worked with. I think of his temper, but I also think of him dancing wildly, a circle of people around him, with a huge piece of blue tape stuck to his nose, stomping and shaking his head wildly. He had a fire inside of him. Be it his frank opinions, or his insatiable appetite for challenge, his presence was always noticed.

There was another side to him as well that was more reflective and peaceful. He loved to share his photo albums of hiking and mountaineering trips to places like Colorado and Mt. Katahdin, Maine. He wouldn’t let you just flip through the photos, but wanted to explain every detail, or what happened in every picture. His love for language and poetry was intense, as well as his bread baking and pizza-making skills. (We always use his recipe.)

I had the privilege of meeting his mom, Clare, at a memorial for him at Pinkham Notch the week after he died. A roomful of people listened and laughed to stories about Ned, and felt his presence in his mom, who was every bit as animated and energetic as he was. We left feeling uplifted, inspired by his life and her strength.

Although Ned isn’t here, his spirit lives on. In places like the Brookside, Liberty Tent Site and Acadia, and in the people he’s worked with and laughed with. I had to exercise self-control to refrain from telling him about the glob of ice cream or peanut butter in his beard, and I broke down and told him once. If he were here, I’d share with him what I’ve learned from him: Live life to the fullest, be who you are, and be happy with whom you are. Do the things you want to do, and do not look back.”